作词 : Lias Saoudi/Alex White/Nathan Saoudi
作曲 : Lias Saoudi/Alex White/Nathan Saoudi
A prick a prod it’s the end of the line
The wrong kind of dream that water still isn’t wine
Gone Golgothic my friend it is bent it is torn
More than clear that you’re here to suck it up from the floor
The rabble they grope in gladness they crush
My every ideal but I’m no longer touched
I’m whiter than milk a plant a seed
A growth agape the reason you plead
A stiff a crutch it’s the end of a prime
The end of a stump it’s a waste of your time
It’s anaemic to taste it is stale it is done
It is blight it is clear that you’re here to be shunned
They cattle they stoop in madness they rush
I froth at the mouth but I’m no longer touched
I’m whiter than milk a prat a weed
A bum a flash the source of all need
It’s your dead town spice it’s the size of your mum
It’s a break in the keel it’s awake it is numb
Still my brother insists that we stay on the march
Through his vision of pain to the end of my heart
Visions of Pain
To the end of my heart
The lid the sty the press and the prang
The softness of sin the back of a hand
A temple of kicks at the mouth of a night
A corona of lust that is gone with the light
A loin a crack a knack a sham
It’s a year it’s a day it is under a gram
The tip of a tongue all lathered in spite
And a mind that won’t stop it’s the flood it’s the flood
Beneath beyond before be-twixt
A claim an heir your future won’t fix
Still my brother insists that we stay on the march
Through this vision of pain to the end of my heart
Visions of pain
To the end of my heart
I got a sore throat in my gut
And a headache in my loins
作词 : Lias Saoudi/Alex White/Nathan Saoudi
作曲 : Lias Saoudi/Alex White/Nathan Saoudi
A prick a prod it’s the end of the line
The wrong kind of dream that water still isn’t wine
Gone Golgothic my friend it is bent it is torn
More than clear that you’re here to suck it up from the floor
The rabble they grope in gladness they crush
My every ideal but I’m no longer touched
I’m whiter than milk a plant a seed
A growth agape the reason you plead
A stiff a crutch it’s the end of a prime
The end of a stump it’s a waste of your time
It’s anaemic to taste it is stale it is done
It is blight it is clear that you’re here to be shunned
They cattle they stoop in madness they rush
I froth at the mouth but I’m no longer touched
I’m whiter than milk a prat a weed
A bum a flash the source of all need
It’s your dead town spice it’s the size of your mum
It’s a break in the keel it’s awake it is numb
Still my brother insists that we stay on the march
Through his vision of pain to the end of my heart
Visions of Pain
To the end of my heart
The lid the sty the press and the prang
The softness of sin the back of a hand
A temple of kicks at the mouth of a night
A corona of lust that is gone with the light
A loin a crack a knack a sham
It’s a year it’s a day it is under a gram
The tip of a tongue all lathered in spite
And a mind that won’t stop it’s the flood it’s the flood
Beneath beyond before be-twixt
A claim an heir your future won’t fix
Still my brother insists that we stay on the march
Through this vision of pain to the end of my heart
Visions of pain
To the end of my heart
I got a sore throat in my gut
And a headache in my loins